Begotten
by AddiCullen
Summary: While the Avengers are busy cleaning up NYC, Agent Romanoff sneaks away to Boston. When the secret of Natasha and Clint's ties to eachother is discovered and exploited, the spies find themselves compromised in more ways than one. They recruit the help of the other Avengers to track down the dark villan that will stop at nothing to tear them apart...literally.
1. Prologue

**BEGOTTEN**

**_Prologue_  
**

Natasha Romanoff walked purposefully down the streets of New York City. Tiny shards of glass were further crushed beneath her high-heeled boots. It had been only a few days since Thor and Loki had returned to Asgard, and Manhattan was in ruins. The Avengers, as they were now known, had officially disbanded, though they all stayed around, using the damaged Stark Tower as their new headquarters. Though the danger had passed, there was a major cleanup job ahead of them.

Most officials saw the Avengers as public nuisances. In order to get some good publicity, Agent Nick Fury had informed the team that they would be assisting with the clean up as much as they were able. All, that is, except for one.

After giving this order, Fury had pulled the Black Widow aside. He'd leaned in close and whispered a different set of orders into her ear. No one watching would notice the slight narrowing of her eyes as Fury pulled away. But the expression soon softened into her poker face.

"Why don't you have to stay and sweep up broken glass like the rest of us?" Tony Stark complained, approaching her on the abandoned street. Tasha turned around to see him standing with Clint Barton. They were both dressed in ratty streetclothes, armed with rubber glove, brooms, and garbage bags. The site of the infamously spoiled Tony Stark equipped with such was almost comical.

"The Black Widow has been given other orders." Clint explained. One of the corners of Natasha's mouth twitched upward in a half-smile.

As Tony opened his mouth to argue, Natasha cut him off, "I have other, more sensitive issues to attend to."

"Right, you go off on your super spy adventure and leave the rest of us here to rot in debris." Tony wrinkled his nose, looking hopelessly across Manhattan's obliterated skyline.

"Well, you have a big job ahead of you." Natasha clapped his shoulder and gave the billionaire a smug grin, "I'd get started if I were you."

* * *

She didn't stop driving until she reached Boston, quite some time later. Natasha put the nondescript black SUV in park outside of a small townhouse. Even though the sun was setting, she covered her face with a pair of large black sunglasses. She pulled a black scarf to cover her fiery red hair. When she was sure that she wouldn't be accidentally recognized from a distance, she got out of the car into the gathering twilight.

The townhouse was simple, bare-bricked, with peeling green shutters and a wrought-iron fence separating its small front yard from the sidewalk. Natasha walked up to it without hesitation and pushed through the squeaking gate, closing it firmly behind her. Quietly, she made her way to the front stoop and knocked on the dark green door. She listened intensely but heard no movement from inside the house. Impatiently, she rang the doorbell and waited again. Feeling a knot grow in the pit of her stomach, the spy stood on her tiptoes, reaching above the doorframe and plucking the spare key from its hiding place. She inserted the key in the lock and turned. The door swung open easily, revealing the eerily dark front hall.

With a growing feeling of dread, she stepped inside and listened. After a breathless moment, she could safely conclude that the house was empty. This was unexpected. She quickly swept through the rooms, seeing no sign of a struggle. No overturned tables, no shattered picture frames. Suspiciously, she found the kitchen empty. No food in the fridge or the cupboards. She shied away from a dark thought as she slammed the cupboard she'd been inspecting shut. The _BANG!_ echoed throughout the house.

Her feet carried her to one of the two bedrooms. It was small, covered in Captain America memorabilia. With a melancholy smile, she moved further into the room. It was bit messier than the others, but that was to be expected. A pair of small shoes laid haphazardly next to a toddler's bed. A Captain America action figure was facedown on the covers, which were pulled up and orderly. Numbly, she picked up the worn action figure and clutched it tightly. This was the room of a child. But the child was nowhere to be found.

Trying to quell her panic, Natasha left the room and closed the door behind her with forced calmness. She noticed that her hands (one still gripping the Captain America action figure) were shaking as she took out her cell phone and pressed one of the numbers on speed dial. It rang only twice before there was an answer.

"Nat?" Clint's confused voice came through the phone.

"Hey, have you heard from Barney lately?" She asked tightly.

"No, why?" He asked. When Natasha didn't respond, Clint added seriously, "Why? What's wrong?"

"He's gone." Natasha snapped, "Barney's gone, and so is Nathan."

"What?"

"I'm saying that your brother is missing, and our son is with him."

* * *

**Hi! I just wanted to let you know that this is just the prologue and the chapters (about 8 or so) will be longer. **

**Enjoy!**


	2. Safety

**_1. Safety_  
**

**BOSTON- 3 MONTHS AGO**

Natasha let loose a rare smile as she approached the friendly playground. A little boy ran toward her, grinning wildly. He wore mismatched socks and a pair of red shorts, topped off with a blue soccer jersey displaying the number 7. A small, makeshift red cape flowed out from his shoulders as he ran across the woodchips.

"Mommy!" He cried when he reached her. Natasha bent down and opened her arms just in time for her small son to slam into her. She closed her arms around him and held him to her tightly. Having taken no chances in being recognized, she had disguised herself well. She wore a curly blond wig and fake, bug-eyed glasses. She wore black heels and black leggings under an overlarge cream sweater. The spy was never able to visit her only child in peace, if she were followed and someone found out about her son, he would be in great danger. But he was always able to recognize his mother, no matter what outfit she wore or what color her hair was.

"Nathan," She sighed contentedly, he smelled like peanut butter and grass, "there's my big boy." Nathan squirmed away and Natasha kept a grip on his shoulders, taking him in. "You've grown again." She observed.

"Duh." Nathan replied simply, rolling his green eyes that were so like his father's. "You were gone a long time." The smile froze on Natasha's face.

"I was." She agreed. She'd been trained as a spy and assassin since she was child. When she'd had Nathan, she knew that she couldn't stay with him, as much as she might like to. She didn't know how to be a mother. And S.H.E.I.L.D needed her…she owed too much. "But I was getting you something special for your birthday." Nathan bounced excitedly and clapped his hands together as Natasha reached into her brown leather shoulder bag and pulled out a 8-inch long box wrapped in blue wrapping paper and topped with a red bow. Nathan leapt forward, snatching at the present but Natasha pulled it just out of reach. "Ah, wait! Where's Uncle Barney?" She scanned the playground.

Nathan gave her a bewildered look before skipping forward and taking one of her hands in both of his small ones. Natasha was bent over nearly double as her son led her across the park by the hand. There were a few picnic tables set up around the playground. Some of them were occupied by happy families; parents playing with their children whom they got to see every day. Natasha pushed the bitter thought down as they came across a picnic table that was host to a single man. He looked up from the small square cake that sat in front of him and smiled upon seeing Natasha being led by little Nathan. He was a muscular man with ruffled brown hair and sharp facial features. His smile was big and bright, eyebrows bushy over green eyes that were not unlike Nathan's.

"Tasha," He said cheerily.

"Barney." Natasha greeted Clint's brother. Barney was Nathan's primary caregiver. Neither of his parents could stay with him, for that would put their precious child in danger. Barney kept him safe, he gave Nathan a good, normal life. Barney Tock (because Barney Barton was "presumed dead") lived in a small townhouse in Boston with his "orphaned" nephew, Nathan Tock. His parents were still alive, but nobody was allowed to know about that. In a way, Natasha was jealous of the fact that Barney would be the one to really raise her son. He was the one who attended Nathan's soccer games and clumsily sewed him a cape for his superhero games. But Natasha knew that she was far from a soccer mom. There was only so much she could do for her son, but she'd be damned if she couldn't keep him safe from her enemies.

Nathan settled on the bench of the table across from his uncle, his sneakered feet dangling several inches off the ground. Natasha sat down next to him as Barney lit four candles on Nathan's birthday cake. The two adults sand happy birthday and instructed Nathan to make a wish. The four-year-old squeezed his eyes shut and blew out the candles in one go. Natasha applauded him as Barney started to cut the cake. Nathan became very thoughtful, staring at the wooden table.

After a minute, he looked up at his mother and asked solemnly, "When is Daddy coming?" The nature of his wish became apparent.

"He'll stop by tonight." She told him gently. He looked hopeful and Natasha put a hand on his back encouragingly, "Don't worry, Nathan, Daddy would never miss your birthday." If imprisoned, tortured, on a stakeout, or in a meeting, both Clint and Natasha would do anything to find a way to make it to their son when he needed them.

Barney set a small paper plate, holding a piece of cake, in front of Nathan. Almost forgetting to use a fork, he eagerly dug in. Natasha watched her son affectionately. He had his father's eyes, sandy hair, and dimpled chin. But he also had her round nose and porcelain skin. He chewed happily, oblivious to the horrors of the real world, unaware about the truth about who his parents really were. He knew it was important to keep it a secret, and was intelligent enough to play along. But Natasha valued his innocence, she wanted him to stay young, happy, and unaware for as long as possible. But what mother doesn't wish such things for her child?

Nathan only ate about half of his piece of cake before he was begging Natasha to open his present.

"I'll trade you." She said, taking a bite of his cake and pushing the wrapped box towards him. "Happy birthday." He ripped off the glossy wrapping paper and ogled at what lay beneath. It was a Captain America action figure, accurate from his shield to his boots. Nathan's eyes lit up. He'd recently become obsessed with Captain America, declaring the Captain as his favorite superhero. Natasha tried not to take this personally. Nathan stood up on the bench and threw his arms around his mother's neck.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" He all but shouted next to her ear. She winced at the noise, but smiled at his joy. His bright eyes and wide smile was almost enough to curb her jealousy towards her son's favorite superhero. Almost.

"You are very welcome. You like it?" She asked.

"I love it. Thank you, Mommy!" He hugged her tighter for a moment before pulling away.

Natasha felt guilty that her boy was celebrating his fourth birthday party with his disguised mother, eating a small cake and opening a present or two. She wanted to give him so much more. Next year, she promised to herself, next year she'd make sure he had a proper party.

Her cell phone beeped and she looked down, suppressing a grimace. She whipped out the phone and answered it with a tight, "What?"

"We need you back here. Now." The man at the other end demanded without preamble.

"I already said that I wouldn't be available today." Tasha informed him.

"I'm afraid it's urgent." With a sigh, Natasha disconnected and looked at her son, who was watching her solemnly.

"You're leaving?" He asked sadly, "But you just got here."

"I know. Hey," She caught the little boy's chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. She smiled reassuringly. "I'll be back soon. Uncle Barney will take good care of you, and Daddy will be by to visit later tonight. It's okay." Nathan nodded with understanding, his green eyes still grim. He heaved his small body up so that he was standing on the bench and walked over to his mother, throwing his arms around her neck in a goodbye hug. Natasha hugged back. He was so brave, her perfect little boy. She pushed the emotion back down before it could show on her face before pulling back.

"I'll see you soon." Tasha promised. She hitched her bag over her shoulder and walked across the playground. When she was almost out of sight, she looked back. Nathan was still standing there on the bench where she'd left him.

But now he was on the bench, alone, clutching his Captain America action figure.

* * *

**BOSTON- PRESENT**

"Are you sure? They could have just gone out for ice cream or something." Clint suggested through the phone.

"No. I've been through the entire house. They're gone, Clint."

"But-"

"Believe me." Tasha looked down at the toy that she clutched so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, "They're not here. There's no food, but no sign of a struggle. And…" She hesitated, "I'm holding Nathan's favorite action figure." There was several seconds of silence. Nathan never went anywhere without his prize possession: the Captain America action figure that his mother had given him for his birthday.

"Have-uh-" Clint's voice shook and he took a moment to compose himself before asking, "Have you checked the box?" Of course, Natasha and Clint wouldn't have left their only child without a backup plan for if he was threatened. If he felt that Nathan was compromised or in any kind of danger, he would leave Tasha and Clint a coded message in a safety deposit box at the local bank. It was a secure location, only Natasha, Clint, and Barney knew the box number, and a key was needed in order to open the box.

"I haven't." She moved from the hallway into the master bedroom. She walked quickly into Barney's bathroom and opened the cupboard under the sink. Clint waited silently on the phone while Natasha noisily pulled out all of the cleaning supplies and removed the fake wooden panel behind them. A small, state of the art safe was hidden there. Natasha had to type in the password and place her thumb on the scanner before the door's latch popped open. The safe held a single item: the safety deposit key (the other key to the box never left Barney's person). "Okay, I'm on my way to check the box. Clint, I need you to stay calm. I'm sure they're fine."

"Yeah." Clint did not sound comforted. Natasha disconnected and dialed another number as she strode from the house. She needed to talk to the one other person in existence who knew about Nathan.

"Special Agent Nick Fury." Agent Fury answered.

"This is Agent Romanoff."

"Agent Romanoff, you are on leave." Fury said disapprovingly.

"There's a problem with that, sir. My son appears to be missing." Natasha said stiffly.

"Look-" Fury started.

"No," Tasha cut him off, "No. I'm sure he's fine. I just need you to keep an eye on Barton while I check things out. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course." Fury responded at once. Tasha hung up and stepped on the gas, speeding down the sleepy street. It took her less than twenty minutes to reach the bank. She was lead silently down into the vaults and asked for some privacy. Once alone, she glanced around and inserted the key into the lock and opened the box eagerly, searching for some sort of hint to where her son was now. Only, there was no clue.

The box was empty.

* * *

**STARK TOWER, NEW YORK CITY**

Steve Rogers ducked and narrowly avoided the arrow that whizzed passed his ear.

"You know what? I think I'll come check up on you later." He closed the door in time to hear the _thud_ of another arrow sinking into the wood. Shaking his head quizzically, Steve retreated from Hawkeye's door and went in search of some of the _other_ Avengers, hopefully some that weren't as trigger-happy. The first-and last- place he checked was the lab. Through the plate-glass walls he saw Bruce Banner standing on a platform, wearing a baggy pair bright orange pants. Tony Stark was bent close to the pants, using a pair of calipers to measure the fabric from behind Bruce's knees. One of the many robots that wandered around Stark Tower was stationed close to Bruce's elbow, watching Tony's movements out of its black nozzle hopefully. It took Steve a minute to figure out the complicated, transparent keypad, but thankfully the science bros were too preoccupied to notice his failure. They did glance up, however, after Steve closed the door behind him.

"What are you two up to now?" He asked. Tony grinned wide, showing off the best teeth money can buy as he flicked a hologram upwards, expanding a blueprint and chemical formula for what looked like a pair of pants.

"Stretchy pants." Tony announced proudly, "Well, correction, some very, _very_, stretchy pants. These are going to be able to stretch to 50 times their original size. We could fit a family of elephants in there. Or, you know, one Hulk with enough breathing room so as not to shred or impair his range of motion."

"Fascinating." Steve replied mildly, looking unimpressed.

"Well, obviously is isn't as flashy as some of my other work." Tony continued, "But these will nevertheless be useful in our heroic endeavors. They stretch to fit but never stretch out. Dr. Banner here could Hulk out and return to normal size and these pants would fit him every step of the way."

"Theoretically, anyway." Bruce put in, adjusting the waistband nervously.

"And, who knows, maybe there could be a market for these. You see, business is about seeing a need and fulfilling it…" Tony stopped as Steve held up a hand to cut him off.

"You can save the marketing speech, I have no idea what you're talking about, anyway."

Tony looked at the world's first superhero for a moment before stating calmly, "Your ear is bleeding, by the way." Rogers lifted a hand and brushed the ear in question. Sure enough, he hadn't noticed that Clint's arrow had grazed his ear. Though, Steve figured he should have guessed as much; it wasn't like Hawkeye to miss his mark.

"It'll be fine." Steve brushed it off and continued earnestly, "Have either of you talked to the Hawk today?" The two scientists exchanged looks before shaking their heads.

"I actually haven't seen him since last night." Iron Man informed him nonchalantly.

"Why, do you think something's wrong?" Bruce asked.

"Yes." Steve replied immediately. His comrades stared at him for several seconds, but he offered no further explanation.

"Well?" Tony questioned impatiently.

"I just saw him and he seems…" He struggled to find the right word, "sulky."

"Sulky?" Dr. Banner repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, he's been shooting arrows all around his room-"

"I thought he always did that." Tony interrupted.

"The help is afraid to approach him," Steve continued as if Tony hadn't spoken, "And when I went to go check on him, he wouldn't say a word, he just attacked me."

"And that's why you're bleeding?" Bruce asked clinically. Steve nodded.

"Hm. First Tasha disappears then Barton goes all moody." Tony was thoughtful for a second before a Cheshire Cat grin stretched across his face. "Well, it's safe to say it's a little _more_ than obvious that Agent Barton has a crush on Agent Romanoff," he hopped up to sit on the platform by Bruce's feet, "I bet he's just upset that she's not around."

"But where is she?" Steve asked, "I've checked, she's not doing anything for S.H.E.I.L.D."

"Jarvis, bring up all files on Natasha Romanoff." Tony demanded the thin air.

"I have them right here, sir. Up to some snooping, are we?" Jarvis replied, displaying the few pages he could concerning Agent Natasha Romanoff.

"Ah, Jarvis, you know me. I can't resist a mystery." Tony responded, pouring over the files. "I prefer being able to know everything." Steve snorted at that, Tony wiggled his eyebrows and Captain America rolled his eyes in response. However, his expression grew serious as Tony opened one of the files and it hung in the air for all to see.

"This is an invasion of privacy." Steve stated forcefully.

"Please, there's not even very much information here." Stark poured over the few pages while Bruce stood above him awkwardly. Steve scowled.

"These files are supposed to be sealed."

"Do you want to know what's up with Natasha or what?"

"Not that much."

"Well, then. You can go and do your bigger person thing and we'll keep you posted, just in case it's something important, kay?" Tony didn't turn away from the files the whole time. He touched one of the links and opened another folder, then he frowned.

Steve's curiosity got the better of him, "What?" He asked.

"There's a year that Natasha completely dropped off the grid, it was right after she started working for S.H.E.I.L.D. No wait, there's a case file attached, but it's encrypted. And well, too, if Jarvis hasn't already cracked it."

"Um…what?"

"In very, _very_ simple terms;" Tony explained with exaggerated patience, "Tasha was on a super secret mission, I don't think anyone other than Fury has the clearance to view these files."

"I've got a feeling that's not going to stop you from trying." Dr. Banner said with a wry smile.

"Of course not." Tony grinned, "Jarvis will be working on it nonstop until he cracks it. Right, Jarvis?"

"It would seem so, sir." Jarvis replied.

"There you have it. We'll know soon enough." Stark closed down the hologram and turned back to Dr. Banner. He looked at the pants again and wrinkled his nose. "Are you sure about the color, doctor?"

Bruce looked distraught, "You said this was the only color that would work! They were the only fibers that we could manipulate to stretch enough…"

"Oh yeah." Tony smirked and turned away, "I did say that, didn't I?"

Bruce sighed and nodded, looking down.

"You fell for that?" Steve raise one eyebrow, "I honestly thought you were smarter than that."

"I happen to be very smart." Banner responded defensively, "I'm a scientist, I spent years researching gamma rays."

"I suppose you _were_ smart enough to attempt to recreate me."

"Obviously not smart enough to get it right." Tony said pointedly. Bruce cut his eyes to the businessman, but let the insult slide. He knew that Tony always went out of his way to aggravate him. "I dunno, Doc, the color looks good on you."

"It looks like my pants are on fire." Bruce pointed out. At the word "fire" the robot that was waiting at his elbow perked up and shot out a merciless avalanche of white foam that soaked Bruce from head to foot. He stood there, dripping white foam, while Steve choked back a laugh. Bruce glared at Tony, who stared back with his best poker face.

"Fire extinguisher." He said, eyes laughing, "Still working out the bugs."

* * *

**So what do you think about the first chapter?**

**Do I have your attention?**

**I wanted to thank you for all of the interest in the story and encourage you to keep it coming!**

**Reviews make my day!**

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	3. The Cumberts

**_2. The Cumberts_  
**

**STILLWATER, PENNSLVANIA**

Less than 7 hours later, Natasha was driving into the tiny town of around 200 people. Once again, Tasha and Clint were not without a backup plan. If there wasn't time for Barney to leave a message, he was instructed to take Nathan to the safe house. It was set up in a small town in which everyone knew everyone. Natasha bought the property under the name Lorelei Cumbert and made sure she was no stranger to the neighborhood, strangers tended to attract attention around here.

Natasha, Clint, Barney, and Nathan all spent a week at this safe house every year. Barney masqueraded as Lorelei Cumbert's brother, Russell, who always brought his "son" Nathan. This was how the town knew them, anyway. Barney and Nathan couldn't be strangers and Tasha and Clint's identities needed to be kept secret in order to keep the safe house…well…_safe_. Because of this, Clint was always confined to the house on these trips, so that if anyone asked questions about him, no one in town would have anything to say.

She rolled to a stop in front of a small, one-story house. Its wood-paneled walls were painted dusty yellow with white window frames and doors. There was a single rocking chair placed on the wrap-around porch. The lawn was trimmed, but impersonal; no lawn gnomes, no gardens, no loose toys. The paved driveway lead to a one-car garage that hadn't been used in over 5 years.

The curtains in the small windows were drawn. The house appeared empty. With a sinking heart, Natasha made her way up the cracked sidewalk. She walked across the porch and knocked on the cream-colored door and waited. No one answered. She knocked again. Still, there was no answer.

"Barney?" She called through the door hopelessly, "Barney, it's me! Please tell me you're in there." There was no movement behind the door, no reply of any kind. No sign that there was anyone inside, or that there had been at all recently. Losing her patience she took a step back and kicked the door in with practiced efficiency. The door swung open to reveal a dark house.

She stepped across the threshold into the small family room. The room was furnished with black leather furniture, a coffee table, and a boxy TV. The walls were pale blue that compliment the stainless steel appliances in the kitchenette on the far side of the room. Coffee mugs hung from the white counters. The refrigerator was outfitted with a single crayon drawing of Captain America's shield. She walked through the narrow hallway on her left and peaked in the bathroom and two bedrooms. One of the bedrooms belonged to Natasha and Clint, it was small and mostly taken up by a large bed with a gold comforter and an obscene amount of throw pillows. A single dresser and a mirror were also shoved into the cramped room. The other bedroom was shared by Barney and Nathan. It had two twin beds, both with superhero bedspreads (she smiled at the memory of Barney's dismay). There were superhero logos covering the walls and a single Captain America poster. There was also a desk at the end of Nathan bed, which the child usually used to play with his action figures. He liked to pit Captain America against Iron Man, but Iron Man always ended up getting thrown off the desk onto the bed, which Nathan insisted was alright, though, because "he can fly". As she had feared, it was completely empty. She moved outback to the patio, which was outfitted with a grill and a wicker love seat that was still coated in leaves from last fall. The grill was scarcely used, seeing as Clint and Natasha were hardly domestic. She walked around the porch to the front of the house and closed the front door again.

Natasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath, biting her bottom lip. Her throat felt tight and her eyes burned, it had been a long time since she had wanted to cry. Years, in fact.

"Lori?" A familiar male voice pulled her out of her reverie. She took a moment to pull herself together before turning to face the voice. The call had come from the porch of the house next door. It was nearly identical to the house she now stood in front of, except that there were flowers planted in a bed of dirt next to the porch and a garden gnome stood in front of it. It was obvious that someone lived in this house. That someone was standing on the porch and Natasha summoned a smile for the neighbor, an elderly man named Louie. He had dark brown skin and thinning black hair. He had smile lines and joyful brown eyes. Louie was a smart, friendly man, but he was no stranger to reality. He was a police officer before he retired a year ago, and those years had obviously taken a toll on him. Beneath his bushy mustache his mouth was usually set in a grim line.

"Louie." Natasha greeted him, her voice not betraying her emotions. Louie was the person that Natasha had entrusted to watch over the house. As far as he was concerned, the house was a country home that needed tending to while no one was living in it. Of course, he only knew her a Lorelei, or Lori for short.

"I wasn't expecting you." Louie commented. Not that he ever really expected her, she showed up randomly, but she paid him enough to keep him from asking questions.

"I was in the area, thought I'd stop by to say hello." Natasha replied conversationally a she walked the short distance between the houses to stand on the porch with Louie.

"Mh-hm." Louie grunted with a disbelieving nod. However, he knew that he'd get nothing more out of his mysterious neighbor.

"Louie, have you seen anyone come by the house recently?" Natasha asked in a last ditch effort to find her son safe and sound.

"No one's been by in months, not since you were last here." The old man answered seriously. Tasha nodded knowingly.

"Well, thanks for looking after the house as always." She said before turning away. Louie retreated into his house and Tasha stopped as soon as she reached the sidewalk. She tried to still her shaking hands as she pulled out her phone and hit the speed dial.

"Yeah?" Clint answered anxiously.

"I'm at the safe house." She paused for a beat before adding, "They're not here." As soon as the words left her mouth, she heard giant crash as Clint flipped a table over. He didn't stop there, Natasha sat on the phone for several minutes as she heard the sounds of wood breaking and glass shattering, there were thuds as furniture was knocked aside and papers littered the ground and crunched under Clint's feet when he finally calmed down.

"So that's it. They're gone." He said hopelessly, all the fight out of his body.

"We'll find them." Natasha said, her voice steely instead of comforting, "We are going to get our son back. I'm heading back to Stark Tower, I'll be there tomorrow. We can decide what to do next then. Don't speak of this to anyone, including Fury. Wait for me."

"Of course." Clint mumbled, "Hurry."

"On my way."

* * *

**STARK TOWER, NEW YORK CITY**

Clint hung up the phone and tossed it dejectedly onto his bed. There was a knock on the door and it opened before he had a chance to say anything. Steve Rogers stuck his head in.

"Barton? Fury sent me to check on-" He trailed off as he saw Clint standing amongst the wreckage of the room. Tables were flipped and papers were scattered everywhere, walls were missing chunks that Clint's arrows had torn out, there was shattered glass underneath Clint's feet, making the carpet sparkle, and everything was covered with a light layer of feathers from a couple of torn throw pillows. And in the middle of it stood Clint, his arms at his sides, looking like a kid who'd been caught doing something he knew he shouldn't.

"Um," Steve said slowly, "Were you attacked?"

"No." Clint answered tightly.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked. Clint didn't answer so Steve dared to venture, "Then what _did_ happen?"

"Tell Fury do run his own errands and that if he-and anyone else-values their lives, everyone will stay away. Understand me?"

Captain America looked at the other man evenly for a few moments before nodding. "If you change your mind and want to talk about it or something, you know where to find me." He slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Steve headed straight for the lab where he found Tony sitting on a table with a hologram of words with friends projected in front of him.

When Steve finally navigated his foe the complex keypad, he opened the door to Tony stating forcefully, "No, Jarvis, that's _not_ a word!"

"My dictionary database says otherwise." The computer replied coolly.

"Yeah? Well, I've read the dictionary too, and that was _not_ in it."

"With all due respect, sir, did you read the book in the past decade?"

"You don't respect me." Tony muttered bitterly.

"On the contrary, I hold you in the highest regard."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Hey, Stark." Steve interrupted. Tony whirled around and stepped in front of the hologram, but Steve had already seen it. Bruce had once tried to teach the First Avenger how to play while teaching him how to deal with technology, but the lessons rarely stuck. "I thought the point of this game was to play it with your friends, not your computer. Though I suppose you don't have many friends."

"Ha." Tony rolled his eyes, "I happen to have plenty of friends. It's just that it's not really fair for me to play with real people since I don't want to make them feel insignificant."

"Ah." Rogers smiled sardonically. Tony scowled.

"Did you need something?" He asked bitterly.

"So Barton's room is a mess…"

"You came to ask me for a clean up on isle Hawkeye? I'm not a maid."

"No! Just thought you'd want to know the guy's destroying your precious tower." Steve informed him. The billionaire waved a hand dismissively. "And…" He trailed off. Tony looked at him with an arched eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face.

"And you want to know if I found out why he's so moody?" He finished smugly. Steve narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in resignation as Tony continued to grin like a fool as he opened up Natasha's file. "So, Mr. High and Mighty, lowering your standards? Curiosity driving you to snoop? Feel like joining the rest of us on our lower plane?" Captain America just stared at his comrade evenly. "Has anyone ever told you that you are absolutely no fun?"

"It's been brought to my attention." Steve deadpanned. Tony shook his head as he turned his attention back to the hologram that showed a loading bar as Jarvis worked to decode the encrypted case file.

"Well, Jarvis hasn't quite been able to crack the code just yet. Jarvis, how much longer do you think it will take?"

"I should have the files available by tomorrow evening." Jarvis stated.

"There you go." Tony turned back to Steve with finality, "We'll know tomorrow."

"If Hawkeye lasts that long."

* * *

Natasha practically flew through the front doors of Stark Tower. She ignored the people who greeted her and stomped to the conference room where Nick Fury was waiting for her.

"Assemble the Avengers!" She screeched.

"Natasha, calm down." Fury said forcefully.

"My son is missing, don't tell me to calm down!" Tasha barked, slamming her hands on the table. "I need to know where he is!"

"I've sent for Agent Barton, he'll be here in a minute. Until he gets here I need you to _control_ yourself so we can get to the bottom of this." He urged her. "Sit down."

"I-"

"That's an order." Fury fixed her with a steely gaze. Tasha bit her cheek and crossed her arms before belligerently taking a seat. "There." He sat down across from her, "Now walk me through what happened." Natasha opened her mouth to explain, but before she'd taken a breath the door burst open and a bedraggled Clint entered. There were bags under his eyes and his hair stuck out in every direction.

"You look terrible." Tasha snapped at him.

"Right back at you." Clint responded wearily, noting the dark smudges on her otherwise pale face.

"Barton, take a seat." Fury ordered. Clint sat next to Tasha without hesitation. "Now," Fury continued solemnly, "Tell us what happened." Natasha briskly explained the events (or lack thereof) from the day before.

"I talked to the caretaker and no one has been to the house." Tasha finished. The two men took a minute to digest the information.

"Do we have any suspects?" Fury finally asked.

"The list is miles long, there's no shortage of people who have it out for Clint and I." Tasha answered dejectedly.

"And Nathan was with your brother at the time?" Fury addressed Clint, who nodded. Natasha bit the inside of her cheek again as she turned to the father of her child.

"Clint, you're going to hate me for saying this, but we can't rule Barney out as a suspect." She muttered. Again, Clint's only response was to nod.

"I know." He said tiredly after several moments of silence, rubbing a hand over his chin stubble.

"I'm not saying it's his fault or anything, but he could be involved."

"Or he could be another victim." Clint corrected.

"Yes." Tasha agreed softly, "But given his history, he's always been just a little questionable."

"He's my brother." Clint reminded her, becoming irate, "I don't expect you to understand."

Barney and his younger brother Clint had been orphaned at a young age. They stayed at an orphanage for a few years, then ran off to join the Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonder. It was there that Clint met his mentor, the Swordsman, who chose the younger brother as his apprentice instead of Barney. Then a bitter Barney left to join the army, inviting Clint to come with him. Clint had refused.

"I don't remember hearing about your brother when he got out of the army." Fury said.

"He joined the FBI," Clint answered, looking down in shame, "He was working for them when I was one of the bad guys. I tried to rob a mansion that he was guarding, even wounded him. But when I found out it was him…Barney's the reason I became a good guy."

"Why do you suspect him?" Fury asked Tasha.

Before she had a chance to answer, Clint cut in, "While we were fighting together, he was mortally wounded."

"I don't think his intentions have been honorable. He's held bitterness towards you his whole life, I can't believe that he'd abandon all that for the sake of _our_ son." Natasha argued.

"He fought at my side! My brother died a hero!"

"Yes, but he _died_, Clint!" Tasha turned her attention back to Fury, "Barney Barton _died_ in that battle. He sacrificed himself to save the world. He had a funeral. There's no way he could have survived that."

"But he did." Clint retorted hotly.

"We never really questioned it. I think that we should now."

"I don't think he did it." Clint stated stubbornly.

"I don't think he did, either." Tasha laid one of her hands on his.

"Then might I just ask who _did_?" Fury demanded, returning to the crisis at hand.

"Sounds like we need to start running names and tracking them down." The fatigue returned to Hawkeye's voice. Natasha cut her eyes to him before saying,

"We're going to need help. Which means we'll have to explain…" She paused and Fury finished for her,

"Everything."

* * *

**Sorry that these chapters have been so..."meh". But the next chapter is my baby and you're gonna love it!**


	4. Mission Cooperation

**_3. Mission Cooperation_  
**

**BUDAPEST- 5 YEARS AGO**

Natasha sat strapped into the seat of a small jet flying over Hungary. Her jaw was set forward and she sneaked a peak at the man sitting across from her; Agent Clint Barton. He had used the torturously long plane ride to tend to his equipment; his skilled hands explored each of his weapons, checking for any inconsistencies. Natasha had spent most of the trip subtly watching him…wondering.

This wasn't her first meeting with Clint Barton. They met about a year ago, when the Black Widow was the epitome of crime. She used her special skill set to steal secrets and priceless artifacts and sell them to the highest bidder. She was a master in martial arts and an expert in interrogation: a dangerous combination. However, her moral compass was a bit askew.

That was when SHEILD dispatched Agent Barton to kill her. She was dangerous and evil and conniving and she had to be stopped. No one had been able to track her; except Hawkeye. And no one had been able to best her in a fight; except Hawkeye. As he stood over her, one foot pinned her broken arm to the ground and she gritted her teeth in pain, her vision blurring as blood poured from a gash on her forehead, he held up his knife to deliver the final blow. But the blow never came. He pulled back and sheathed his dagger, Natasha passed out. She came to in a SHEILD holding cell a few days later.

After a year of being trained and taught to use her skills for good, she hadn't seen Agent Barton since. She still didn't know what had caused him to spare her. And now he sat casually across from her, sharpening the same dagger he had used on her that night, acting as though she was just another fight partner.

Curiosity tugged at her. Who was this man who was able to make her surrender? And why did her ignore her? She couldn't quite put a finger on it, but something about his nonchalance irked her.

Across the isle, Clint kept his eyes on his work, needing to keep his hands busy. He remembered his last battle with the Black Widow, and though he'd defeated her, he'd barely made it out alive. She had delivered a few good blows of her own. He hadn't seen her since that night. He noted the differences in her. Her eyes were more closed off; the last time he'd fought her she had laughed at his first attempt at disarming her and her eyes were lit with a fiery passion for the fight. Now her expressions were heavily guarded. She'd also let her auburn hair grow out, the curls were pulled into a long braid that hung down her back. However, she _had _kept the same skintight black outfit.

"Agents," Their superior, a man in his fifties called Agent Roden, spoke, "Time for you to be briefed on your mission."

"About time." Natasha grumbled. Agent Roden shot her a disapproving look.

"There has recently been an increase in gang violence in Budapest. Or, at least, that's what we thought was going on. We then caught wind of a very powerful mob. We sent in Agent Michael Langon to investigate. Unfortunately, the situation was more serious than we'd originally thought and Agent Langon didn't have enough experience to combat it. He was captured. As a SHEILD Agent, he has valuable information that cannot be disclosed. Our top priority is search and rescue."

"I have a question." Natasha said, Agent Roden pursed his lips, "Why does this require both of us?"

"Ouch. I'm insulted." Clint put a hand to his heart in mock pain. Tasha blinked at him evenly before returning her attention back to Agent Roden, who looked fiendishly amused.

"The situation is more delicate than anticipated. We needed an expert spy who could extract Agent Langon without drawing attention. That would be you, Agent Romanoff. And since this is your first mission with us, Agent Barton has been assigned to accompany you."

"I don't need a babysitter." Tasha balked.

"He is not just your babysitter, he is your back up." Agent Roden leaned toward her sternly, eyebrows drawing together seriously. Natasha held her ground. "It's a precaution that you don't take on your first mission by yourself. And no offense but I, for one, don't have complete faith in you just yet. Agent Barton is the only one that can assist you, but remember that he's also the one person that can _stop_ you."

"Then why didn't he the first time?" Natasha demanded. Clint ignored her, returning his attention to the dagger.

"Believe me, I have _no_ idea." With that, Agent Roden walked back to the cockpit.

Natasha glared openly across the isle at Clint, but for the rest of the plane ride he refused to acknowledge her.

* * *

Clint's first words to her were, "I found him. Or, I know where they're hiding him, anyway." He addressed her as he entered a shack on the outskirts of Budapest some hours later. Upon arriving at the house, he'd announced to no one in particular that he would go out to scour the city. He'd then wordlessly handcuffed Tasha to the radiator with a futuristic set of cuffs that she hadn't figured out how to pick. And she quickly learned that the more she struggled, the tighter the bracelet became around her wrist.

She merely glared at him when he returned, plotting ways to slaughter him as soon as he released her. Clint leaned his strung bow against the table and hung his quiver around a chair at the small table that was located just out of Tasha's arm reach. He sat down and glanced at her casually.

"What SHEILD thought was gang violence was actually the work of Afon Zolnerowich." Clint said.

"The Russian mobster?" Natasha blinked in shock, momentarily forgetting her predicament.

"That's the one."

"What is he doing here?"

"That's what we need to find out. After we secure Agent Langon."

"How exactly are we supposed to do that if one of us is cuffed to the radiator?" Natasha asked dryly.

"Oh, sorry," Clint said, not looking the least bit sorry as he pulled a fob out of his pocket. He clicked the small button with a grin and the cuffs beeped, a green light coming on. Natasha pulled the cuffs apart easily and she stood, rubbing her wrist with a frown.

"You know, not many people can get the drop on me like that." Natasha informed him, looking at her companion out of narrowed eyes.

"I know." He met her gaze grimly, all of his earlier mocking gone. Natasha was baffled by this man. Not many people could best her, and now he'd done it twice. It was as though her guard was lowered when around him. But that would make her weak, and that was unacceptable. She moved cautiously to sit across the table across from him, reminding herself _not_ to kill him because they were probably on the same side. "What was with the ambush?"

"I needed you to stay here. I move easier when I'm by myself, but I didn't think I should leave you here alone."

"I'm not your _responsibility_."

"No," He replied tightly, "The mission is my responsibility, and my part of this mission is scouting. Then I'm to act as your backup."

"I can take care of myself," Natasha hissed softly, "I don't need backup."

"Just this once, pretend that you do." Hawkeye suggested. Natasha stared at him. She'd expected him to bait her further, to irritate and infuriate her. But he seemed…complacent. Her eyes roamed the room for a minute before inevitably landing back on Clint.

"Can I ask you a question?" She asked.

"Would it stop you if I said no?"

"No." Tasha crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

"What's the question?" Clint asked, taking one of the complicated arrows out of the quiver and examining the tip.

She waited a beat before asking, "Why didn't you kill me?" His hands stilled, but he refused to look up at her.

"What do you mean?" He questioned remotely.

"Last year, you were supposed to kill me. But you didn't."

"Oh, that was you?" Clint's hands picked up their movements again and he smirked as he returned to inspecting his arrowhead, "I thought you looked familiar."

_Do not kill him, do not kill him_, Tasha chanted to herself. "You're avoiding the question."

"Yeah." He answered bluntly, again taking her off guard.

"I'm going to keep asking until you tell me." She informed him.

"I'd expect nothing less." Clint replied mildly. Natasha chewed on the inside of her cheek, eyes flashing with annoyance.

"Has anyone ever told you how frustrating you are?" She snapped. Finally, he looked up, but his eyes only showed amusement.

Upon meeting her bewildered gaze, he winked.

* * *

According to Hawkeye, Michael Langon was being held in the basement of a print shop located about a half mile out of town. The shop was a front for Zolnerowich's black market dealings. Natasha had grown up hearing Afon Zolernowich's name, the man was notorious for his cruelty in Tasha's home country of Russia. However, she had no idea what the man would be doing in Budapest. He had a lot of dirty dealings in drugs and weapons trade, but he mostly dealt between Russia, China, North Korea, and the Americas. Tasha was curious to know what the mobster was doing in Hungary, and she was itching for a chance to take him down.

After dark, Natasha followed Clint around the back of the isolated print shop, which was about twice the size of the biggest print shop Tasha had ever seen, the size of a large warehouse. There were two guards stationed at the back door. Clint silently signaled for Tasha to step back and pulled his bow around in front of him. Natasha watched as he fitted an arrow to the string and pulled the bowstring back. Her eyes lingered on the hard lines of his arm muscled that were perfectly toned after years of practice with a bow. He loosed and the string reverberated on the bow. The arrow sunk into the flesh of the first guard's neck, he dropped like a sack of sand. The other guard saw him go down but a second arrow buried itself in his skull before he had a chance to react. Natasha walked over to the bodies and prodded the first guard with her toe, just to be sure.

"It's okay, you're allowed to be impressed." Clint said as he came up behind her. She raised an eyebrow and he continued in mock seriousness, "'Wow that was the best shot I've ever seen. You're so strong…'"

Tasha narrowed her eyes, "It takes a lot to impress me." She informed him gravely.

"Guess I'll just have to try harder, then." He answered with a shrug. He turned to the guard's body and pulled the keys off his belt. Hawkeye inserted one of the many keys in the lock and turned it, the door popped open. He nudged it slightly open with his foot then slipped inside. Natasha unholstered one of the guns at her waist and followed him into the shadows.

The back of the shop was actually a warehouse, filled with shelves upon shelves of large boxes and shipping containers. Clint was on a knee behind one of these boxes, peering around it. Natasha crouched next to him. An electronic whirring noise came from Clint's quiver as the arrows shifted. The noise cut off with a click and Clint carefully extracted one of the arrows and fitted it to his bow. Raising himself just a little higher, he aimed at a security camera that was mounted in the corner of the building. The arrow flew true, as it approached the camera three prongs sprouted from the arrowhead and the arrow attached itself to the camera, scrambling the frequency, the little red light blinked out. Clint turned to Natasha and pulled two small devices out of one of his pants pockets. He held them out to her. She took the devices and examined them, seeing they were the same as the device attached to Clint's last arrow.

"These will take care of the cameras." He told her, "We have to be fast. And don't get caught on tape."

"I'm not an amateur." Tasha quipped coldly. Clint nodded, unruffled, then slipped away. Natasha moved stealthily through the warehouse, ducking behind boxes until she came across another security camera. She moved to the back corner of one of the shelves, out of sight of the camera. She holstered her gun and gripped the metal shelf frame. She heaved herself up from shelf to shelf, box to box, making her way to the top shelf. The spy was _very _close to the ceiling when she reached the top, but she was also above the camera's gaze. She scuttled across the top layers of boxes, crawling on her knees and elbows, her back scraping against the tin roof. When she reached the other corner of the shelf, there was several feet of open space between her and the wall where the camera was. Carefully, she moved to the side of the camera. She planted one foot on the shelf. With the rest of her body, her arms and leg, she leaned toward the wall. She wasn't quite horizontal when her palms made contact with the metal siding. Tasha brought her available foot to rest on the wall as well. When she had a proper foot holding she let got with her hands and straightened as much as she could in the small amount of head room that she had. Unfazed by the fact that she was doing to splits nearly two hundred yards in the air, she reached forward and snapped the device to the camera. The red light flickered out. She pushed off of the shelf, no longer needing to avoid the camera, and went into a free fall. Before hitting the ground, she flipped in the air and landed on her feet, she rolled once to diffuse the fall, then stood.

She took care of the final security camera in a similar fashion then pulled out her gun ad went in search of Barton. She rounded one of the shelves and saw Clint kneeling behind a large crate, his back to her. She also spotted a night guard who had come across the intruder while making his rounds. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at Clint's back, who hadn't yet noticed that he'd been caught. She didn't even think as she launched herself behind the guard and snapped his neck before he knew she was there. As his body fell to the ground, Clint whipped around, fitting an arrow to his bowstring. If it hadn't been for Tasha, he might have been a second too late. When he saw her standing behind the fallen guard he lowered his weapon and nodded his thanks. Tasha just shrugged it off.

They moved to the front of the warehouse where Clint used his confiscated keys to open a door that lead to a closet. Oddly enough, there was another keyhole on the back wall. Clint inserted another key into the lock and turned it. The back wall seemed to unhinge as it creaked open. He kicked the door open further, revealing a dimly lit tunnel. Weapons at the ready, the pair entered.

They made their way through the dark cavern for several minutes, encountering no one. Natasha had a growing uneasiness. If this was where Agent Langon was being held, they'd come across it far too easily.

"This isn't like Zolnerowich." Natasha observed softly, "I thought there'd be higher securi-" She was cut off by a loud explosion. They must have triggered a weight sensor, they were flung in opposite direction by the blast. Tasha hit the ground and curled up by the wall, feeling a searing pain in her abdomen. She put one hand on her stomach and pulled it away. She blinked a few times to clear the stars from her vision and saw that the palm of her hand was covered in blood. Her ears were ringing from the explosion, as a result she didn't hear Clint shouting her name until he knelt in front of her. He rested one hand on her knees and his other moved her hand away from her midsection so he could see her wound.

"What were you saying about higher security?" He asked bitterly. His eyebrows drew together as he observed her injury. "This is bad, we need to get out of her."

"No." Tasha growled through gritted teeth. He looked at her, surprised at her refusal.

"What?"

"No." She repeated, it took a lot of focus to gather the energy to talk, "Remember when you said the mission was your responsibility, not me? You can't risk failing to help me. Someone will have heard that explosion, you need to get to Langon fast." Clint stared at her, lips pressed together tightly and eyes wide with alarm. "Just give me my gun and come back for me later." Natasha continued. Her gun had flown out of her hand and hit the wall on the opposite side of the tunnel. Barton did not look happy with this plan, and Natasha didn't like the way he was looking at her with such… _concern_. "You need to go!" She rasped harshly. He continued to watch her for a few moments before sighing. He stood and retrieved her gun, by the time he returned with it he had rid his face of any expression. He grabbed her right wrist and lifted it, emotionlessly placing the gun in her hand.

"Wait here." He instructed blankly. He dragged her into a crevice in the wall caused by the explosion and rushed off. Tasha leaned her head against the cold stone wall, breathing heavily. With each breath she felt a sharp stab in her abdomen. She removed her hand again and looked down to assess her wound. Several shards of shrapnel had lodged themselves in her torso, and it felt like they were sinking deeper. A couple of minutes after Clint left, she heard the footsteps of more guards coming to investigate the explosion. Their time was up. From her hiding place, Tasha listened, waiting for them to come closer…closer…She leaned the top half of her body out of the crevice and raised her arm, firing fast and accurate. She ducked back again when one of the guards returned fire. In a break between rounds she peeked out again and took him down. The last guard had figured out her hiding place and approached it. Tasha drew a small blade out of her belt and swiped at his leg. She opened a deep gash behind his knee and he dropped like a bag of sand. She buried the knife in his back, and all was quiet.

Clint soon returned at a run, followed by a tan man with dark hair and eyes that matched the picture of Michael Langon that Agent Roden had showed them. Langon's skin was dirty and bruised, and he had a bloody nose, but otherwise appeared healthy. He was in better shape than _her_ at the moment. Barton stepped over the carnage, observing the massacre proudly, and knelt in front of her.

"See? I knew you'd be fine." He told her with a small, shaky smile. Natasha made a noise that may have been a snort as she rolled her eyes. "Let's get out of here." He collapsed his bow and strapped it to his back. He pulled a gun out of his boot and handed it to Langon, who accepted it gingerly. He then reached down and extracted Natasha's extra handgun from the holster on her left hip. This he also handed to Langon. Michael was wearing tattered jeans, gray t-shirt, and a dark green jacket around his waist. Without a word, Clint tugged at the sleeve of the jacket and untied it from the other man's waist despite his protests. He tied the jacket around Natasha's midsection and tied it so tight that she gasped and bit her lip against the sharp pain.

"Gotta keep pressure on it." Clint muttered quickly. He turned to Langon, "You need to keep us covered on the way out. If something moves, shoot it. Understand?" Langon hesitated so Clint repeated firmly, "Understand?" Langon nodded. Clint looked dissatisfied with his backup but shook it off. He leaned forwards and slid an arm under Tasha's knees. He moved his other arm around her back. Tasha draped her left arm around his neck. He lifted her and she leaned into him, pointing her gun over his shoulder. Everything was a bit of a blur as they escaped the warehouse. Natasha shot down a guard over Clint's shoulder, Michael shot a couple more. Tasha's vision was going fuzzy, and with every step Clint took her wound was jostled, sending her a new burst of pain every time. She blacked out before she felt fresh air again.

When she came to she was lying on the bed of the safehouse. Clint had pulled up a chair next to her and was cutting away the fabric to her suit around the shrapnel.

"You need to stay awake." He informed her. She nodded weakly. He applied anesthetic and wiped away most of the blood before pulling out some surgical tweezers. The removing of the shrapnel was _very_ painful. Tasha hissed and tried not to wiggle as Clint removed them bit by bit. She grabbed his shoulder and squeezed as he pulled out a piece that gave her a specifically sharp jab of pain. "Sorry." He apologized.

"I've had worse." She assured him honestly, "There was this guy last year, really beat the hell out of me."

"He sounds like quite a guy." Barton said with a smirk.

"Something like that." She couldn't resist rolling her eyes, she seemed to do that a lot when talking to Clint. "But he's saved my life twice now." The smirk faded. Tasha continued, "Why would you do that?"

"Do I need a reason?" Clint responded cryptically as he threaded a needle and proceeded to stitch up her wounds.

"Yes."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint you, but I don't really have an explanation." Natasha tightened her grip on his shoulder. "I saved you today because it's part of my job. You're a valuable asset and SHEILD would not be happy with me if I had just let you go." He finished up her stitched and gave her bare stomach a soft pat of finality, she winced, prying her fingers from the comfort of his shoulder. He stood, "You need to get some rest." He started to leave the room.

"Wait!" She called out, suddenly remembering something. Barton stopped in his tracks, turning back to her with raised eyebrows. "There's something wrong."

"Did I miss a piece?" Clint asked, returning to her with that concerned look that Tasha hated so much.

"No, not wrong with _me_. Wrong with the mission."

"You really need to get some rest." Clint said dismissively, once again making his way to the door.

"This is really important. Something is _really_ not right about this. Listen-"

"Tell me about it tomorrow." Barton said flatly, he had reached the door, "Right now you should sleep." Before she could respond, he had turned off the light and starting closing the door.

"Goodnight, Agent Romanoff."

* * *

**Sorry this chapter took so long. **

**Originally, the Budapest flashback was going to be one long chapter. But it got too long so I split it up. So the conclusion of this little adventure will be in the next chapter, which will also be pretty long. Thanks. **

**Look how easy they made it for you to review! :)**

**l**

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**V**


	5. The Ballerina and the Marksman

_**4. The Ballerina and the Marksman**_

**BUDAPEST- 5 YEARS AGO**

It was almost 24 hours later when Natasha finally awoke and limped out of the bedroom. Despite the late hour, both Clint and Michael were sitting at the table, talking in hushed voices. Tasha stood in the doorway, gripping the doorframe for support. Clint looked up, sensing her presence, and was on his feet at once.

"Here-" He began, preparing to offer help. Natasha swatted his hand away and dragged herself to the table, where she took the remaining seat. Her guns were sitting on the table and Clint's strung bow was across the back of his chair. Following her lead, he took his seat as well. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

"I'll survive." She answered shortly. "We have more important things to worry about."

"Such as?" Clint asked skeptically.

"Such as that thing I tried to tell you before I passed out. Something is wrong."

"With the mission?"

"Maybe…" She gave him a level stare before questioning, "What makes you think this was Zolnerowich?"

"What?" Barton looked shocked.

"I think you got some bad intel."

"What makes you think that?"

"Him." Tasha jerked a thumb in Michael's direction.

"Me?" He gulped.

"Look at you, you were held captive by a Russian mobster for nearly three days, and you're fine. A little battered, but you're still alive and you've got all your appendages. Not even any broken bones! That's not Zolnerowich's style."

"Maybe he's laying low." Clint suggested tightly. Tasha bit her cheek, her stitches were hurting and she was frustrated. "Did you hear anyone mention Afon Zolnerowich? Did you see him?" Clint asked Michael.

"I didn't hear them mention anyone. Except…they kept mentioning someone called 'șef'."

"What, is that Russian?" Clint asked.

"Romanian." Tasha corrected curiously, "It means 'boss' or 'chief'."

"Were they all speaking Romanian?" Barton questioned Agent Langon.

"As far as I could tell."

"Well, I suppose this mission has been extended." Clint sighed wearily as he stretched in his seat, "I've already contacted the extraction team, they'll be here tonight to take the both of you back, I'll stay behind and find out what exactly is going on here."

"You're not extracting me." Natasha snapped immediately, "I may have been injured, but I'm not useless and I certainly _don't_ need to be coddled."

"I'm not coddling you." Hawkeye informed her carefully, "But I can move easier if…"

"You think I'll slow you down?" Tasha replied, outraged, "A few stitches won't…"

"You're leaving. This is not a negotiation." Clint said coolly. Tasha had been awake for all of ten minutes and she was already having a bad day, her blood was boiling as it did so often when it came to dealing with Agent Barton. At his order, something within her snapped and she was on her feet in an instant, grabbing her gun and pointing it at his forehead. However, Barton was equally fast at arming himself. By the time she cocked the gun he had an arrow in his bow and pulled back the string, arrowhead pointing to her chest.

"I'm staying, I was the one who realized something was wrong, I'm seeing this mission through." She hissed through gritted teeth, unflinching at Clint's weapon that was aimed to kill. She kept her gun hand steady. Michael, however, stayed very still in his seat, eyeing his comrades nervously.

"Lower your weapon, Natasha." Barton ordered levelly. Tasha's eyes narrowed at the way he used her first name as though they were old friends.

"Lower. Yours." She snarled shortly.

"You aren't really going to kill him just for putting you off the mission." Michael piped up.

"I've killed for a lot less." She answered coldly, eyes not straying from Clint's stubborn gaze.

"So have I." Clint agreed. Tasha suppressed a confused frown. After a minute of tense silence, Clint continued, "You need to see a real doctor about those wounds." Natasha didn't answer, she just continued to stare him down. "You're going."

"I'd sooner shoot you."

"Then shoot." Barton challenged. Natasha felt a jump of shock go off in her chest…that must be what it was. Shock. She wasn't expecting him to call her out. But then, when had Barton ever done what she'd expected?

"I think this is getting a little out of hand…" Michael interjected.

"Shut up." Tasha snapped, "Or you're next."

"Go ahead." Clint egged her on. Tightening her jaw, Tasha flexed her arm, gripping the gun tighter, willing herself to pull the trigger. She met his steely glare and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the wall a couple of inches from Clint's left side. Michael ducked under the table. But Barton didn't flinch, neither did he release his arrow.

"Aren't you going to shoot me?" She taunted. Clint continued to look at her for a minute before bringing his bow down.

"I don't think so." He decided. Tasha didn't lower her weapon. Clint replaced the arrow in his quiver and leaned the bow against the table, once again taking his seat. "The extraction team will be coming for Agent Langon tonight, we can look into the situation after he's been picked up." Finally Natasha clipped her gun to her hip and sat down. Michael peeked out from under the table and, seeing that the coast was clear, got back into his chair. "Aren't you going to thank me?" Clint asked her sardonically.

"I don't think so."

* * *

After Agent Langon was securely on his way back to America, Clint lead Natasha through the streets of downtown Budapest. Zolnerowich's in-town office, he said, was on the seventh floor. Tasha slipped into the office through the window and planted a bug underneath his desk before rejoining Clint on the top of the roof across the street. By the time she got there, he had the radio that was broadcasting the bug set up and was messing with one of the dials to remove the static. The sun was almost completely set, covering everything in sight with shades of dark blues and reds.

"We may have a long wait ahead of us." Clint informed her, sitting against the raised side of the building. Wordlessly, Tasha sat next to him, staring at the radio.

"What kind of things have you killed people for?" She asked after a minute.

"Hm?"

"You said that you've killed people for a lot less."

"So did you."

"But I asked you first." Tasha pointed out. Clint paused, staring down at his shoes while he thought about the answer.

"I don't know, lots of things. I've killed people for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, for working for the wrong person. I still kill people for those things, so do you. But I've killed just for the sake of my own ego. Or to prove a point."

"But you didn't kill me."

"We're on a mission together, there would have been paperwork."

"I didn't mean today." Tasha corrected. Clint appeared to be chewing his tongue. "So," Tasha continued, "since we're going to be up here for a while and you've got no where to go, how about you tell me why you saved me." He glared at her. For a while, it seemed like he wasn't going to answer.

"I owed it to you." He finally sighed. At Natasha's arched eyebrow he continued, "I know that it isn't always easy to stay on the straight and narrow. I used to be like you were, a thief. But I have to believe that anyone can come back from the edge." This news intrigued the Black Widow. She turned to face him and pulled her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her shins and rested her chin on her knees, watching the man before her expectantly.

"Care to explain that in a little more detail?" She asked innocently. He was glaring at her again. She countered with a blank stare.

"Fine." He grunted, "If you want the whole sob story, my parents died. My father was drunk and lost control of the car. Good riddance to him, I say. But my brother and I lived in an orphanage for several years. Eventually we ran away and joined the circus, which is where I learned how to shoot a bow and arrow. My mentor, The Swordsman, taught me everything he knew, and I admired him. But then I found out that he was embezzling funds. I went to turn him in, but he stopped me. By the time I was conscious again, he had skipped town."

"Is that what made you go dark side?"

"It was part of it. But also, my brother and I had been growing apart for a while. He decided to join the army and he invited me to go with him. I said no. He told me that I could still change my mind if I wanted to, the bus would leave the next morning. He left, and I didn't go with him."

"But you didn't want to go?" Natasha guessed. Clint took a beat before answering.

"I did change my mind, I was going to go with him." He replied darkly, "I missed the bus." He took a deep breath, "And then Trick Shot happened to come along at exactly the wrong moment."

"Trick shot? I've heard of him, he was a big deal about twelve years ago. The master archer turned thief and murderer?"

"That's the one. I worked with him for a while. But after my brother came back from his time in the army, I found him. He was a bodyguard, after seeing war he was still protecting people, he was still the good guy, it's just like him. Mending things with my brother is what changed me. I've only ever wanted to do the right thing. Even when with Trick Shot, I tried not to kill if I didn't have to. Even now, I'd prefer criminal face justice than to perish at my hands. And that's why I didn't kill you." He concluded.

Natasha took a minute to mull this over. He had said that he was like her once, but she didn't think that was true. Upon finding out that his mentor was a criminal, his first instinct had been to do the right thing. Even as a villain he tried not to spill blood. Even now he still tried to save lives, including hers, and she didn't think that she deserved to be saved. She knew why he hadn't remained a bad guy, because he couldn't. Deep down, he'd always been a good person who longed to do the right thing.

"Well?" Clint asked.

"What?" Natasha was abruptly pulled out of her reverie.

"You owe me." He said simply, "What lead you here?" She supposed that she should have seen this coming. But after all that he'd just told her, she couldn't deny him her story.

"Have you heard of Ivan Petrovich?" She asked.

"Director of the Black Widow Ops program." Clint recited promptly. His face fell as he immediately realized where this story was going.

"My parents died in a house fire when I was a kid, but Petrovich saved me from that fire. He and other raised me into the Ops program. They trained me to fight and steal and kill as I grew up, with the help of some experimental psycho-technology that helped me to fight better. This operation was completely secret, no one unqualified could know about it, including me. I was placed as a sleeper agent. Without the proper cue, I had no idea who I was. I thought that I was a ballerina, I head full of implanted memories. But I discovered what I really was; the perfect spy. It was all I knew how to do, so I didn't care what I used it for. Until this guy nearly killed me, heard all of this, and for some reason still thinks that I can be saved." She avoided meeting his eyes as she drew her rushed story to a close. She left out as much detail as she could, but she had the feeling that he'd done the exact same thing with the telling of his story.

"Do you still dance?" Clint asked unexpectedly. Natasha snapped her eyes up to find him watching her closely.

"A little, I suppose." She answered with a noncommittal shrug, "I don't generally need to do much dancing anymore."

"Did you like being a ballerina?"

"You ask weird questions." Tasha announced dryly. When he only continued to watch her, she blew out a sigh, "Sure. It wasn't deconstructive like everything else I do." Clint just nodded. Before either of them had a chance to say anything else, a voice came on over the radio. Clint turned up the volume as a man started speaking in Romanian.

"Do you recognize either of these voices?" Clint asked softly. Natasha listened intently to the conversation between the two men before shaking her head.

"No, and they're not Russian either."

"This is recording, we can send it into SHEILD." They listened for a few minutes, then the two men left the room. "I suppose this means that our part of the mission is done." Clint said on a stretch.

"But we still don't know who it is."

"_They _do."

"Who does?"

"The people above our clearance. Let's get out of here."

* * *

When they were back at the shack, Clint came in as Tasha sat on the bed.

"They're sending an extraction team in the morning." He informed her. She nodded and, to her surprise, Barton sat down on the bed next to her. "How are you feeling?"

"You mean the stitches? I barely feel them." Part of the Black Widow Ops program involved dosing her with chemicals that sped up her healing process. Barton nodded. Natasha had no idea what lead her to say, "Hey, I'm sure you were terrible at being a bad guy." Clint scowled in confusion and Natasha clarified, "What I mean is, I don't think you ever had it in you."

"You never know what someone's capable of." Clint shook his head.

"Well, it's hard growing up without parents, I know."

"Yeah." She looked at him, and he was looking right back at her, gaze intense. She was mesmerized, so mesmerized that she didn't even know she was leaning in until she felt his lips on hers. No more that a second later she violently pulled away, jumping to her feet and retreating to the opposite wall.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, trying to keep her voice and hands steady. He gave her a perplexed look.

"I think the question is what _you_ were doing."

"I didn't-" She cut herself off, knowing there was nothing she could say that would make the situation better for her. "Please leave." She said stiffly. Without arguing, Clint got to his feet and, with a hurt expression that would nearly break her heart if she had one, left her alone in the room.

* * *

It had been three days, and they were still in that godforsaken shack in Budapest. There had been extradition attempts, two of them. But as it turned out, they had been made when the Romanians found their bug. Every attempt at leaving ended in an ambush. They were in hiding, and Tasha was at her wit's end. She was grateful that she and Clint fought ferociously together and that he always had her back. They made quite a team. But she couldn't spend another day in that shack with him.

She had to admit to herself that she was developing a…tenderness for her housemate. She knew that the night they had kissed. Because, for a split-second, that kiss had felt nice. It felt safe. And she was _never_ safe. They had avoided talking any more than was necessary after that night. She didn't know how to feel about the distance. All Natasha was sure of was that she needed to get out of there. She had to get away from this man who baffled her so. The man who saved her life twice, who didn't fire a warning shot, the man who made her blood boil and challenged her, the man who thought he saw good in her. She reviewed the other night in her head time and time again, and she still couldn't figure out who had initiated the kiss. She supposed it might have been her, though she couldn't believe that. And, worse yet, she was out of clean socks.

"I need to go." Natasha admitted when Clint entered the bedroom with a cup of tea.

"We'll be extracted tomorrow, we've set up a new pick up point and this time we're sure the line was completely secure." Clint assured her. He looked closer at the spy standing in front of him. Her body was shaking, just the smallest amount, it was barely even noticeable. He set down the mug on her bedside table and put an arm on her shoulder, careful not to cross any boundaries that she might object to; he didn't fancy another match with the Black Widow. "What's the matter?" He asked.

"I have no more clean socks."

"_That's_ what you're upset about?"

"Clean socks are important!" She snapped. He rubbed his hands over her shoulders comfortingly.

"You'll be fine." He murmured, she continued to shake. "Do you know how to do an arabesque?" He asked suddenly. Once again baffled, she nodded. "Show me." He urged. Natasha took a step back and planted one foot, lifting the other with the appropriate arm movement. "Now a plié." Clint suggested. She complied. He came up to her and took her hand, spinning her under his arm. Instinctively, she ducked under him and stepped back to pose, still holding his hand.

"Why do you know so much about ballet?" She inquired as he pulled her close to him.

"There were dancers in the circus." Was his breezy reply, "I may have picked up a few things." He lifted her and set her back down, "But the thing about dance is that's it's constructive. See, no weapons necessary. All it is, is beauty."

"I know about a hundred ballerinas who would disagree with you there." Natasha confided, mouth pulling into a half-smile as she wrapped a leg around his before spinning away. She was feeling herself relax, letting Clint lead her through the steps.

"Feeling better?" He asked. He pulled her against his chest and held her there. She was forced to stare up at him, remembering the kiss that she may or may not have initiated.

"Enough." She breathed. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, his hands on her hips, and they had long since stopped dancing. This time she was sure he kissed her. But she also couldn't deny standing on her tiptoes to meet him halfway.

"What are you doing?" She asked, but she was pulling his shirt off over his head.

"You started it." He argued before kissing her again.

"I did not!" Tasha replied indignantly, but she smiled and continued to kiss him.

"Aren't you going to run off again?" Clint asked as he unzipped the front to her suit. She laughed once and grinned.

"I don't think so."

* * *

**Ok, I know. I'm sorry this took so long. I was trying to rework the ending, but this was as good as it's gonna get.**

**Review!**

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